


Not Awake, Not Asleep

by audrarose



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrarose/pseuds/audrarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal finds out what Peter expects from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Awake, Not Asleep

"Peter, this is ridiculous." Neal leaned against Peter's desk, ankles crossed, the picture of nonchalance. Or so he hoped. He picked up the stapler on Peter's desk, turned it over in his hands like he was appraising it. "It was five minutes. Ten, tops."

"Thirteen minutes," Peter said. He tipped his chair back to look up at Neal, his smile cool. "And forty-seven seconds."

"And you think that in those thirteen minutes that I was out of contact, that I... what? Forged a copy of the painting? Made a plan with Dorsett to leave the country? Chartered a private jet, maybe? Please."

Peter pointed at him. "Don't think we aren't following up on all of those possibilities." He sat forward. "But there's a larger issue here. It may not have occurred to you, Neal, but if we can't hear you? We can't help you. You may be used to working without a net, but we have this thing called 'back-up'. We need to know what's going on -- if only for the safety of the people who have to go in after you."

"Ah." Neal gave him a tight smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. And stop molesting my office supplies."

The stapler slipped abruptly from Neal's fingers; he caught it deftly before it hit the desk, set it down with care. "Point taken, Peter. Don't cut off the cavalry. Are we done?"

Peter eyed the stapler, then raised his head to meet Neal's eyes. Neal produced his most blase smile. Forced himself to remain still.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Dorsett seemed awfully interested in you."

"I'm very interesting."

"Neal."

"Well, wasn't that the point? Keep him occupied, you said. Distract him." Neal adjusted his tie, tightened the knot slightly. "Consider him distracted." He couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice.

Peter's chair shot backward as Peter surged to his feet, suddenly too close, one leg between Neal's so he couldn't stand, couldn't move away. Neal drew in a startled breath; he could smell Peter's cologne, something faint and expensive and no doubt purchased by El and he tried to keep his breathing even. He forced himself to look up into Peter's face.

Except Peter wasn't looking at Neal's face. Peter was looking at his neck. Neal hitched his collar a little higher but for once Peter was faster, tugging the stiff fabric away from Neal's skin with one finger, choking him a little. Neal knew what Peter saw there, scraped raw against his skin. He coughed at the pressure on his throat. Played it up a little.

"Hey, easy, you don't have to strangle me --" he started, but Peter wasn't distracted; he grabbed Neal's tie, pulled the knot free in one quick jerk and unbuttoned the first two buttons of Neal's shirt before Neal could say anything else. Neal closed his eyes, but Peter's sharp intake of breath was clear. He knew what Peter saw; he'd examined the marks Dorsett had made in the mirror -- raw, angry bruises down his neck that made his head spin a little. Having Peter so close made him dizzier.

"That fucking bastard --" Peter said, through gritted teeth.

"I think we should keep this in perspective..."

But Peter pulled a few more buttons free, shoved the smooth cotton aside to expose Neal's chest, his fingers brushing Neal's skin intermittently, like he couldn't keep them steady. Neal felt the rage coming off of Peter, and something else he couldn't identify; probably in reaction to the scrape in the middle of his chest.

That one had teeth marks. A little blood. Neal swallowed hard.

"How did this happen?" Peter asked, like it was hard to breathe.

Neal stared at him.

"_Seriously_? Did you think Dorsett just wanted to have tea?" Neal was suddenly a little out of breath himself. "You knew what he was when you sent me in there. _Distract_ him... I think you can imagine perfectly well how this happened."

Neal didn't have to imagine.

He could still feel Dorsett hard against him, panting breath and hungry mouth that had hurt him, somehow mixed up now with Peter, whose touch made him ache in a different way entirely, and suddenly Neal wanted to bolt.

Peter stepped closer, fingers going still. He took a steadying breath.

"I never meant for you to --" He shook his head. "You didn't have to go this far. You didn't have to let him touch you..." Peter relaxed the tension in his hand, knuckles resting briefly against Neal's skin. Warm. Almost _tender._

And it had been so fucking long since anyone had touched Neal like that.

Neal set his jaw and leaned in a little. "What about you, Peter?" he asked. Quiet. Dangerous. "Do I have to let you touch me?"

Peter's face went utterly blank, and he stepped back, his hands leaving Neal's body like he'd been burned. He turned, walked the two steps to the window. Neal had to stop himself from following.

Begging for those hands back.

"Peter..."

Peter raised a hand, and the silence stretched out. Neal numbly slid a few shirt buttons back through their holes before he lost the heart for it, stopped with his throat still exposed. He didn't think it really mattered anymore.

Peter took a deep breath. "It's been a really long day," he said. "Get out of here. Go get some sleep." He turned his profile toward Neal. His eyes were closed. "And have someone look at those bruises. Get some antiseptic on there, at least. Something."

Neal nodded, numb, and stood. When he reached the door, Peter finally moved from the window. Sat at his desk and looked down at the file in front of him, like Neal wasn't even in the room anymore.

Neal hesitated, stared at Peter's stony expression.

"At least we got Dorsett," he said, voice purposely light. An olive branch. "I bet you're happy about that. He'll go away for a long time, right?"

Peter turned a sheet of paper over, his mouth grim. "Oh, no. I'm pretty sure he'll be shot trying to escape."

Neal froze. Finally Peter looked up at him, eyes flat, but the corner of his mouth quirked a little.

"Good night, Neal."

Neal cleared his throat. "Right. Good night."

He stopped two steps from the door and thought for a second. The he leaned back, ducking his head into Peter's doorway.

"You don't... _really_ do that, right?" He smiled a little faintly. "Shoot people, just for trying to escape?"

Peter's grin spread across his face. "What do you think?"


End file.
